


Nothing For It

by verucasalt123



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Forced Crossdressing, Hunting, M/M, Sibling Incest, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 10:07:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verucasalt123/pseuds/verucasalt123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was asked to write a story including the following: <i>Dean spilled his coffee and broke a heel, Sam smeared the lipstick on his face</i>. So this is what happened. Hunting on drag night in a gay bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [insertcode11](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=insertcode11).



There was just no way this was happening. Except that it was. 

They’d headed to Atlanta on the trail of an incubus who was preying on gay men and had racked up a considerable body count. A search of local news told them where to go, but on the night they checked into the Super 8 on Peachtree, both their hearts sank with the knowledge of where and _when_ they’d have to go out to kill this stupid fucker. 

As per their usual tradition, they’d done a 2 out of 3 round of paper, scissors, rock to determine who’d go out to get them what they’d need to blend at Swinging Richards in midtown. Also, as per their usual tradition, Dean lost. He huffed several curses under his breath as he grabbed his keys and headed out, feeling much better after the pity head Sam had given him against the motel wall a few moments earlier. 

When Dean arrived back at their room, he was angry enough to spit. He threw bags onto the bed nearest the door and shot Sam an angry glance. After successfully obtaining dresses and makeup for them at Atlantic Station, a sprawling mess of retail stores, he’d gotten stuck on shoes. Finding cosmetics and wigs was easy, procuring “plus sized” dresses not much more difficult, but shoes were another story. Everyone told him the same thing – go on down to Little Five Points, you can get anything at Junkman’s Daughter.

They weren’t lying.

Getting ready to infiltrate the bar in Midtown on drag night proved to be quite a challenge. Dean spilled coffee on the low-cut dress he’d purchased for himself, but the dress was black and Sam happily scrubbed it out for him in the sink and he hummed, smiling as he watched in the mirror while his brother stuffed his bra. 

Fucking surreal. If Sam didn’t think he’d get his ass kicked, he’d have taken a picture with his phone of that shit. 

Making their way up the sidewalk from where they’d luckily secured a parking spot, they were both concentrating on the task at hand and trying to forget that they were in drag. They’d made the attempt, but there was no way anyone was going to mistake either of them for women. Dean bitched about having to walk _four whole blocks_ in three inch heels. Sam didn’t complain so much. His stupid blue and pink wig was itchy and he felt ridiculous in red lipstick and a garish pink dress that he was sure Dean had chosen intentionally. “It’s not like my choices were endless in your size, Samantha”, he’d said, but Sam was pretty sure Dean had gone straight for pink without looking at anything else. 

At least he was in flats, though. Apparently, even the drag queen shoe emporium of the city didn’t have giant heels in a man’s size 13, much to Sam’s luck. 

Neither of them had a drink, as they’d have felt foolish asking for bottled beer at such an establishment and didn’t want to find out what their alternative would be. They didn’t have to be there that long anyway. It took less than half an hour to identify and corner the incubus who’d been preying on the gay men who frequented this particular nightclub. A hustle out into the alleyway behind the place and a quick exorcism ended the job with a minimum of fuss, neither of the brothers being injured beyond their wounded pride at having to dress like women.

On the way back to the car, they tried to lighten the mood, Sam telling Dean what a great job he did on creating the image of cleavage under his dress and Dean responding that Sam looked pretty hot in that red lipstick. Sam’s reaction was to pull Dean to a stop half a block from their car and kiss him full on the mouth, smearing the aforementioned red lipstick all over Dean’s lips and chin.

 

Luckily, they weren’t in a neighborhood where this kind of activity drew much attention. Dean fucking hated big cities, but couldn’t tear himself away from the passionate kiss. 

 

That was, until, getting caught up in the moment, he didn’t notice the grate on the sidewalk and leaned the wrong way, getting his left heel caught in one of the metal slats and breaking the black stiletto heel right off his shoe. 

 

Sam laughed so hard at the sight of his brother with red lipstick smeared over his mouth and a black stiletto with a broken heel that Dean couldn’t help but fall into laughing with him after a minute. They giggled all the way back to the car, Dean carrying his shoes and Sam making “walk of shame” comments the whole way.

 

Needless to say, there were noise complaints at the front desk of the Super 8 that morning. But they checked out early, before too much fallout, because there was a Waffle House right there and Dean was thrilled at the idea of a plate of hashbrowns scattered, smothered, covered and chunked.


	2. Incubus Hunt Redux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene from previous story, by request. (This chapter is explicit)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For rozabellalove.

Thank Chuck for Dean’s impeccable parallel parking skills, the walk from the club back to the car hadn’t been a long one, despite the desperate lack of actual parking lots. Dean had an almost magical talent for smoothly settling the Impala into street parking despite its considerable size.

Stumbling back into the Peachtree Super 8, Dean and Sam were still off and on giggling regardless of their complete sobriety. They’d taken care of the incubus that had been relentlessly picking off gay men on drag night at a Midtown Atlanta nightclub, but had turned their embarrassment from having to dress in drag into a stream of smart-ass banter and jokes about fake cleavage and the dreaded “walk of shame”. 

Once they got back into the room, though, Dean’s mood seemed to have shifted a bit. As Sam had already rid himself of the dress, wig, shoes, and everything else he was wearing, he got a glimpse of what his brother was doing. Dean spent a few minutes just looking at himself in the crappy bathroom mirror before soaping up a thin washcloth to clean himself of his own makeup, plus the red lipstick Sam had smeared across half his face with the kiss he’d sprung on him on the sidewalk earlier.

Sam recognized this for what it was immediately. Dean didn’t get into a headspace like that very often, but the signs were clear enough, and Sam wasn’t about to let that moment slip away. Before he had a chance to raise the cloth to his eyes, Sam grabbed Dean’s wrist and spun him around.

 

“You know how pretty you look like this, baby?”

 

Dean flushed, looked down momentarily, then back up with a hopeful gaze. 

 

“M’not _pretty_ ”, Dean replied in a voice small enough to be less than a whisper.

 

“Don’t be silly, you are. Turn around again.” Sam pulled Dean by the waist and twisted him until they were both facing the mirror. Sam touched his brother’s face, tenderly, kissed his temple, and continued. “Look at yourself. You’re beautiful. And you’re _mine_. Doesn’t that make me just the luckiest boy in the whole damn city?”, he asked, letting a bit of his Kansas drawl seep into his words.

 

Dean’s heart was fluttering and his stomach was doing triple-lindys, he knew where this was headed and he couldn’t be happier that his brother was so in tune with his most secret desires. 

 

Sam moved his hand from Dean’s waist and started moving up his thigh, under the dress Dean was wearing, until he stopped with a gasp when he found something he didn’t expect. Not being in a particularly patient mood, he hiked Dean’s dress up with both hands and got a look at the lacy, silky, almost see-though black panties he had on underneath. Moving his hand toward the front, he could feel Dean’s erection straining against the delicate fabric and the first beads of pre-come already seeping through the material.

 

He couldn’t suppress the gasp that escaped his lips at this discovery, as he turned his brother again, this time facing him with the black dress hiked up to his waist and his back pressed against the counter. 

 

“Wet for me already, Dean. Just like a girl. Like a pretty, pretty, girl. Tell me, baby. You need?”

 

No further explanation was required. Sam asking Dean that question meant only one thing. 

 

Dean dipped his head again, his reddened cheek against Sam’s shoulder, and just nodded, saying again in a very soft voice, “Please Sammy”. 

 

Far be it from Sam to deny his big brother what he wanted, especially since his desire for this particular kind of action was rare. Sam’s hands grabbed onto Dean’s waist and pulled him up so that he was perched on the edge of the bathroom counter. “I know, I got you Dean, gonna give you what you want.”

 

Sam was gentle at first, his hands on Dean’s cheeks, kissing him softly and reassuring him that everything was all right. After a minute or two, though, Sam moved his right hand back down to Dean’s crotch and cupped his dick, still leaking steadily through his panties. “Good girl, so wet, you want me inside?”

 

Dean could barely form any coherent words, but he thought he might have said something resembling agreement, or submission, or pure unadulterated **need** , because at that moment Sam ripped those delicate panties right off him and stuck two of his fingers into Dean’s mouth.

 

“Get ‘em good and wet, baby, gonna open you up just like you have a tight pussy, get you all ready to take me. You can do it, yeah?”

 

The only response he got was his brother enthusiastically sucking on his fingers, dripping spit all over them and getting them as wet as he possibly could. When Sam pulled them out, Dean shivered, and waited for what came next. Sam teased his hole just for a moment, then shoved both fingers deep inside Dean’s entrance as Dean whined and choked back what might have been almost a sob. Sam pushed in relentlessly, crooking the tips of his fingers forward and hitting Dean’s prostate, almost causing Dean to slip from the edge of the bathroom counter. Luckily, Sam still had a good hold on him with one strong muscled arm, which was all it took to keep him in place. After a minute or two of minimal prep, Sam removed his fingers and coated them in the liberal amount of pre-come that was leaking from Dean, moving quickly to slick his cock with the moisture. His grip on Dean’s waist got tighter, and Sam moved in close to his ear, lining up his cock at Dean’s hole and asking “You ready for me, baby? Want me inside you? You’re so wet for me, I think you want it but I need you to say it.” He knew the answer, knew what Dean needed, but still liked a verbal consent with such little preparation.

 

Dean hitched in a breath and exhaled quickly. “Please, please, inside me Sammy, fuck me, pleasepleaseplease…”

 

Sam had no reason to hold out on his brother. He shoved in with one fast steady stroke, pulled Dean closer to him and waited for the inevitable relaxing of his brother’s muscles around his dick after the initial loud and long cry of pain and relief. He started moving then, knowing neither of them would last very long in this situation. Sam was panting, groaning with the pleasure of the heat around him and Dean was hanging on to his brother’s shoulders for dear life as he didn’t even try to make his soft whining sound manly. He was past caring at this point. 

 

It only took a few minutes before Dean tensed, pushed his head hard into Sam’s chest and keened as his orgasm tore through him from nothing more than Sam’s cock hitting his prostate relentlessly. When Dean came, his muscles clenched so tight around Sam that he couldn’t hold back any longer either, letting go and filling his brother while whispering “Baby, so beautiful, mine, so pretty, fuck, fuck, fuck, baby…”

 

After they’d both regained some semblance of brain function, Sam pulled out and eased Dean’s legs down so that his feet were touching the floor, kissing the top of his head and still holding on tight. 

 

He whispered into his brother’s ear sweetly, “Get cleaned up and come to bed, baby. You’re so good for me. I’m going to take you for hashbrowns across the street in the morning.”

 

“Waffles too?”, Dean asked, looking up at his brother with his own version of the puppy eyes of doom, which Sam had always thought of as the fluttering eyelashes of doom.

 

“Waffles, too, baby. Anything you want.”

 

And he meant it. Not just right this second, not just tonight. Anything he wanted, Sam would give him. For always.


End file.
